


Spill

by wonderwoundedhearers



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 18:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwoundedhearers/pseuds/wonderwoundedhearers
Summary: Post S1 finale, in which a promise is made and Jughead won't be interrupted again.





	Spill

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, as always, it's mega-wordy, but then so is Jughead. I hope you enjoy.

_‘We are weightless,_

_We are invincible.’_

 

_-LAYLA, Weightless_

 

* * *

 

As soon as he closes the door, Betty is at his back.

 

“ _Juggie_!” She hisses in his ear, and beneath the frustration is pure fright. “I can't believe you _took_ the jacket!”

 

Jughead turns, feeling a million years older, and in the dim yellow light from the small table lamp, he finds that a single tear has fallen down Betty’s cheek.

 

Her hastily donned raincoat is half off of her shoulder, baring the pink silk of her bra cup, and her arms are wrapped around her middle, her legs bare and the coat barely covering her hips. The buttons shine in the low light.

 

The proverbial weight of the leather jacket on his shoulders causes Jughead to slump, slipping it from his back and to the floor, where it lies heaped, the serpent’s embroidered emerald head rearing into view.

 

Betty is staring, open mouthed, and Jughead makes sure the locks are bolted before going to her, cautiously offering his arms.

 

She steps into his hold as if she isn't sure he’s offering comfort. His fingers slip into her hair, his other arm curling around her waist.

 

Jughead kisses Betty’s forehead, before pressing his nose into her scented hair, his lips finding her ear.

 

“I've got you,” he tells her simply.

 

Betty jumps when a veritable motorcade of engines roar to life in the trailer park and speed off, fading into the distance. Jughead closes his eyes, holding her tighter.

 

“Why… Why did you take it?” Betty whispers, her fingers burying themselves at his neck, curling beneath the collar of his grey sweater and holding tight. “First South Side High, now this?”

 

Jughead pulls back to look at Betty, and the fright that had only laced her voice is now plain on her face. His heart aches.

 

“Betty, listen. For someone like me, the path of least resistance is the best option. If I kick up a fuss, I'm a _danger_ , I'm fulfilling everyone’s expectations of being FP’s kid. But if I go, if I don't fight it, it will be better for all of us in the end.”

 

Betty stares up at him with her watery green eyes, and he can see she is listening, that she understands and that South Side High isn't really the problem. Although he knows that she is still going to fight him on that.

 

Jughead kisses her cheek, her jaw, trying to show that he's still the same guy that was telling her how much he loves her just ten minutes ago, that nothing has changed.

 

“I had to say yes, Betty.”

 

Her hands ball into fists at the neck of his sweatshirt and he carefully places his hands on top of hers, holding them, encouraging her to release them and the nails no doubt curling into her palms.

 

“Talk to me, Betty,” Jughead murmurs. “You don't have to hold back with me.”

 

“Why did you _have_ to?” Betty gasps out, staring up at him with disbelief, and Jughead is simply glad that her hands have unfurled and that she's _talking_.

 

He keeps hold of her hands as he leads her to the couch, sitting down and bringing her with him gently. She sits with a straight back, but her grip on him is tight.

 

“They made me an offer I _shouldn't_ refuse,” Jughead tells Betty meaningfully, voice low, and she furrows her brow at him, probably at the half-reference to _The Godfather_.

 

“Juggie, I don't-”

 

“Of course you don't understand, Betty, because you don't see the Serpents on your side of town,” Jughead explains, not unkindly. “I do. I knew this was coming ever since I found out about my dad.”

 

The differences between them rear their ugly heads once more, but Betty’s sure grasp on his hands pull his thoughts back from that easy out, bringing him back to the reality that they are going to make this work. They have to. He can't lose her.

 

“Explain,” Betty pleads tiredly, and Jughead releases a thumb from her hold to wipe away the tear trailing down her cheek.

 

“They weren't asking, Betty.”

 

“I heard them.”

 

Jughead’s lip curls with a humourless smile. “Yeah, I did too. But there was twenty-five of them, I counted, _with_ dogs. And then there's me and my undressed girlfriend in a tin trailer.”

 

Betty blinks. “They were threatening you?”

 

Jughead leans in closely, squarely meeting her gaze. “How did they know we would be here, Betty? Why so many of them?”

 

She chews that over in her head while she chews over her bottom lip with her teeth.

 

“They don't get turned down, Betty. They were making a point.” Jughead glances at the shuttered window across from them as if he can see out of it. “De Marcos over there, he went to jail for petty theft. They made the same offer to his kid. He wasn't much older than us. He said no. Two days later, he changed his mind from Riverdale ER.”

 

Betty’s face colours with dawning comprehension. Jughead pulls her close.

 

She curls into him now, settling into the corner of the couch with him, her legs drawn up. His hand runs along her exposed calf, attempting to soothe.

 

“I didn't think…”

 

“Misplaced loyalty isn't the only reason my dad refused to help Sheriff Keller. I knew that.”

 

Betty’s gaze finds his. “I'm sorry. It was just a shock. I felt…”

 

Jughead curls his arm around her tightly, the ugly side of him shifting restlessly. He has never been able to stand seeing Betty hurt, but it is another thing altogether to have that hurt being threatened on her.

 

Her arms slip around him and hold tight. The fury in Jughead’s gut ebbs away at her touch.

 

“You were meant to feel that way, Betty. They wanted you to.”

 

She glances up at his words. “What are we going to do?”

 

Jughead leans back into the couch, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “Well, I know _I_ had other plans tonight.”

 

He glances at her. Despite the events of the past half hour, Betty lets slip a watery grin, rolling her eyes at him.

 

“Oh, _yeah_? Be serious, Jughead.”

 

He feels a true smile surface, playing across his lips. “Oh, but I am.”

 

He leans in close and slips a kiss behind Betty’s ear.

 

“See, in the spirit of being ruthlessly terrorised,” he whispers into her hair, “I just want to feel _alive_.”

 

Betty slaps the fingers that climb her thigh, laughing as she does, even though he can tell she’d rather have a proper answer. Just as she can tell, he's sure, that he doesn't have one, for either of them.

 

She dries her own eyes with her fingertips, smiling as she does and as softly as he has ever seen her smile. She offers him a kiss from those smiling lips, and he accepts it gratefully, sinking into her, as he always does, when her lips meet his.

 

Even remotely thinking about picking up where they left off, which was somewhere against the kitchen counter and the cabinet containing crackers and breakfast cereal, brings that familiar sensation to Jughead’s stomach, tight and pleasant, anticipation beginning to build there.

 

She sighs against his lips, a soughing noise, and he feels that anticipation sink lower, smouldering.

 

With the cooperation of his fingers, Betty slides her leg across his lap, and Jughead lets his head fall back against the couch, her smiling lips sliding down the length of his neck.

 

“Promise me one thing,” she demands in that soft voice of hers, and Jughead wants to tell her that even if she weren’t sitting on his lap, doing terrible _wonderful_ things to where his neck meets his shoulder, that he would promise her anything.

 

As it is, all he can respond with is a murmur of agreement, something similar to a groan.

 

Betty’s hands slip into his hair and hold him firmly as she places her lips at his ear. Jughead’s hands find her waist and hold tight, his breathing coming harder, as if his desire for her is constricting his lungs.

 

“Promise me I won’t lose you,” she whispers.

 

Their eyes meet as she draws back a fraction, and in her gaze Jughead sees her true meaning. She means to South Side, to the Serpents, to everything that threatens to come between them or to take him away from her.

 

“I already told you, Betty. I love you.” Jughead smiles. “So, yeah, I promise.”

 

Betty nods, her own smile shining again, and then she kisses him, hard, and suddenly the evening’s most recent events have been wiped from memory and they are against the counter again, racing toward the line they have yet to cross.

 

His heart pounds a frantic rhythm as he angles Betty’s jaw to kiss beneath, her perfume sweet in every breath he takes against her neck, her soft blonde hair tickling his cheek.

 

Betty’s fingers score his back through his sweater and Jughead groans against her shoulder, baring his teeth against her skin. She gasps and slips closer, her chest crushed to his.

 

Jughead’s hands move down Betty’s back, sliding beneath her coat and her rucked up pastel pink skirt to skate over her lace-edged underwear.

 

“Juggie,” Betty gasps, tugging at his sweater, and he regretfully lets her go, but only for a moment.

 

She pulls his sweater over his head, his dark hair falling in his eyes as he replaces his hands to where they had left off, settling beneath her thighs and tugging her closer.

 

Betty’s chest heaves with her breaths, and Jughead can’t resist kissing her there, sliding from her collarbone to the soft slope of her breast. Betty’s fingers freely score his bare back at this attention and his body responds easily, his cock pressing hard against his jeans.

 

His fingers climb her back, thumbs sliding beneath the clasp of her bra as his lips tease the skin at the edge of the cups, kissing along her sternum.

 

Betty’s hips jolt when Jughead, smirking, manages to slip the catch. Her bra falls between them, forgotten as she kisses him, her coat following suit as her tongue slides across his bottom lip.

 

Jughead’s thumbs lead his hands from Betty’s back to find the hard points of her nipples, his palms cupping her tits gently, her skin so warm and soft.

 

She shivers against him, breaking the kiss, but Jughead knows that it isn’t a chill that Betty’s feeling.

 

Eyes closed, Betty bites at her bottom lip again, head tilted back as Jughead lowers his lips to her right nipple, a rosy hue on creamy white.

 

She is warm against his tongue, soft to his lips as he rolls her nipple between them, and she gasps as his left thumb circles her other nipple, the noise driving his eyes closed.

 

He could never have dreamed that this would be his, this happiness, or that Betty could ever look at him differently. But she had, and now they are here, her breathless and gasping mouth shaping his name as his fingers slip between their bodies.

 

Jughead watches as Betty shivers at his gentle touch to the soft skin on the inside of her thigh, her eyes screwed shut and her fingers clamped onto his bare shoulders.

 

He holds her against his lap with his left hand at her hip, her skirt pushed up high to her waist and revealing his hand beneath, his fingers slipping beneath the lace waistband of her blush pink underwear.

 

Jughead watches through lowered eyelids as his fingers card through the dark blonde hair, the silky material cradling the back of his intrepid hand as his fingers slip along her slit.

 

“J-Juggie,” Betty hisses, and he looks up, breathless himself, to find her watching him. “ _Please_.”

 

Her nails curl into his shoulders, and though he chews over a curse, it only sharpens the need driving his fingers. His fingertip finds a spot that makes Betty’s forehead crease, a cry welling in her chest.

 

He rubs there, stroking the cry from her throat, and he finds that his fingertips are at the crest of her clit.

 

Jughead swallows, throat dry as he navigates the shape of Betty, finding the point and tentatively circling there. She gasps, and her hips begin to rock into his hand.

 

Betty jolts against his fingers, and then, so easily, her clit is against his palm and his fingertips are sliding inside of her pussy. His fingers clench the material at her waist in a tight fist, and his gaze slides down the length of Betty’s beautiful, bare body to watch as he presses two fingers inside of her.

 

She’s as soft as anything he’s ever felt - softer, even - silky around his fingers, and Jughead’s head spins at how wet she is for him. _Because_ of him.

 

Her head falls to his shoulder and words tumble from her lips there, collecting against his neck in hot breaths and muttered curses that he has never heard her say aloud before.

 

He can’t help but laugh, smiling into her hair as his fingers slide into her again easily, the feel of her so _lush_.

 

“Shut u-up,” Betty stutters, rolling her hips into his hand, and Jughead laughs again.

 

“I didn't say anything,” he wheedles. “ _You_ , on the other hand-”

 

Betty presses her thumb to his smiling lips and lifts her head, her hips jolting harder against his palm, his fingers curling inside of her.

 

“Just you wait,” she whispers, closing her unfocused eyes, her head falling back, and Jughead kisses the pad of her thumb, his humour turning darker, joining that smouldering in his gut as he feels Betty tighten around his fingers.

 

Jughead can tell Betty’s close. He prides himself on being able to read her, to understand her, and even though they haven’t passed this particular point together before, he is in sync with her.

 

He’s surprised he has brought her here so quickly, his unpractised hands taking her higher as she rides his fingers and he brings her lips to his for a searing kiss.

 

Before now they had only toyed with this eventuality, with deep kisses and wandering hands. She had explained that she had never gone further, and Jughead had responded in kind, the soft admissions shared one night before he had proceeded to climb back out through her bedroom window with a stupid grin on his face.

 

Her grip on his shoulders pulls him back to this, to hot breaths and the bite of nails.

 

“I’m…” Betty’s words fail her as she tightens in his hold, trembling as she comes against his hand, his fingers moving faster.

 

His breathing is loud in his ears as he watches her, his wrist beginning to ache, but Betty is so beautiful, coming undone against him with her mouth shaping her last words and her thighs shaking.

 

Moments later, she slumps, falling forward against his chest and bracing herself against the back of the couch. She gasps for breath, her fingers coming to curl around his wrist to still him.

 

She places his fingers at her waist, catching her breath as his touch paints a shine against her pale skin. Jughead licks his lip.

 

Betty folds herself around him, her arms around his neck and her forehead against his shoulder, and his hands slide along her back, stroking her skin in long sweeps.

 

Her contentment radiates to him, warming his skin, and Jughead could be satisfied with just this, but Betty’s fingers begin to wander, moving over his chest and down along his abs, fingertips searching.

 

Her eyes meet his beneath misplaced strands of her blonde hair, and in them is mischief.

 

Jughead swallows again. “Betty…”

 

She shakes her head, a smile passing across her reddened lips, her gloss since lost between kisses and cursing against his shoulder. “Shh. I want this. Let me?”

 

He nods jerkily as her fingers wait at his belt buckle. She slips it open at his acquiescence, and now it’s his turn to catch a breath and utter a soft curse.

 

Betty smirks, and Jughead has to admit to himself that it’s becoming on her.

 

She begins with the button on his fly, before swiftly moving on to the zip, leaving Jughead at a loss, laid back against the couch and ready to give himself over to her entirely.

 

But then he has always felt this way about Betty Cooper.

 

Her fingers crawl beneath the waistband of his jeans and his underwear, fingertips seeking and _finding_.

 

Betty draws him out, hard against her palm, and Jughead groans as she releases him. His jeans are tugged awkwardly down his thighs, but he couldn't care less.

 

He glances down between them, and he watches as Betty’s dainty fist curls around his cock, her thumb racing ahead and blazing the trail she takes at a pace as she strokes her hand up and down once, leaving his head spinning.

 

She holds him there, between her open thighs, and Jughead watches her, dazed and biting at his lip. She looks like a painting, with the yellow light across her skin and her bright eyes drinking him in, and he wants to look at her forever, captured just like this. Powerful, in control, and confident.

 

“Kiss me, Betty,” Jughead begs, and she obliges, bending her head to his, her hair curtaining their faces and blocking out the world.

 

The rain against the roof picks up, the noise pressing in on them insistently, and Jughead is reminded of how he used to love being in the trailer when it rained, the weather turning the space cosy and safe, which it so rarely was back then.

 

But now it is a dry safe place again, a place for him and Betty to forget the world, and, yes, they had been found here, but Jughead had bought them time, and that time stretches out before him so endlessly now.

 

Jughead watches, overcome, as Betty enjoys herself, and only belatedly does he find the strength to raise his hand to her elbow, his thumb stroking the skin there. It catches her attention long enough for him to ask his question.

 

“Do you want to, Betty?” He raises an eyebrow at her when she doesn't answer. “We don't have to-”

 

Betty smiles at that. “I know, Juggie. It's just… I always wondered what this moment would be like, and…it's perfect because it's you.”

 

He kisses her for that, kisses her like she’s repeated her earlier declaration of love for him again, and he reaches down for the condom in the front pocket of his jeans.

 

Betty helps him remove the foil packet, her hands pushing at his jeans until they surrender to her will and fall over his knees. Jughead slips them off his bare feet, stilling as he comes into such satisfying skin to skin contact with Betty.

 

He can feel how warm she is between her thighs, how soft, and Jughead fiddles with the condom, feeling half undone just from the feel of her.

 

Betty watches him struggle for a moment as she removes her skirt, sliding down the zip at the back, before coming to his rescue, her hands so much steadier than his at this moment.

 

Perhaps it's because she’s already come, and he’s wound up tighter than tension in a Tarantino movie, but she takes over easily, slipping the condom from his grasp and tearing it open.

 

Jughead swallows against the lump in his throat again, taking a hard breath through his nose. He watches as Betty pinches the latex and grasps his cock to hold it still as she rolls it easily over him. The sensation of her warm fingers is almost enough to start him falling, but she holds him back, her painted nails sliding up his chest.

 

Betty catches his attention by sliding in closer to him, her bare chest flush with his. She smiles as he stares at her, equal parts amazed and in love with her, and she encourages his hands to hold her hips.

 

Jughead wraps his arms around her waist, and Betty does the rest, lifting up, her hand between them guiding him.

 

“Juggie, I…”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

Her face creases as she sinks onto him, and Jughead can’t help but mimic her expression, even if he’s sure the reasons are so very different.

 

Betty feels so good, so tight, but he does his best to ignore that and instead pay attention to why she’s gritting her teeth.

 

“Hey.”

 

Betty opens her eyes as Jughead cradles her cheek in his palm, looking up at her, worry gnawing at him.

 

“The last thing I want to do is hurt you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “Tell me what to do, Betty. Tell me how to make it good for you.”

 

Even at that, he feels her relax in his hold and around his cock, just a fraction, and her thighs lose the tension that had been holding them so still.

 

“Oh, Jughead Jones.” Betty grins. “Just be you.”

 

He blinks at her, before taking the initiative and kissing her soundly, making her gasp and arch against him as his fingers slip into her hair. As she arches, the final gap between them is lost, and she holds him inside of her, trembling at _his_ hands.

 

Her smile has vanished, replaced by rattling breaths and a serious husky tone. “Don’t stop, Jug. _I want you_.”

 

The words reach him some place deep, some long forgotten and disused part of him aching, and this is how he knows that it’s worth it, that they’ll be together no matter what, because she cares for him like no one else ever has, and he has given himself over to her, body and soul.

 

Jughead can’t hold her close enough, can’t kiss her enough, can’t touch every stretch of beautiful skin available to him enough, and he has the faintest inkling that he never will, that this is how it feels to love someone as he loves Betty, that he can never have his fill of her.

 

He directs her restless hips, giving Betty support as she rides him, and she closes her eyes at his touch, their jerky movements transforming into something seamless.

 

Jughead’s heart pounds, his ears full of the sounds of Betty’s soft quiet moans and her hips meeting his. His fingers toy with the tips of the hair that falls down her slender back, into his waiting hand, as he kisses her neck, her shoulder, her breasts, anywhere he can see, can reach.

 

His leg begins to shake beneath her, and he knows that he is holding back, knows that he is ready, his brow damp and his hands and heart full of her.

 

He keeps going, unsure where they are headed, the pleasure turning excruciating in the blink of an eye. He trembles, and Betty, sweet as she is, notices and pushes back his hair from his face, eyes searching.

 

Jughead doesn’t know what Betty sees, but her lip quirks at the corner and she holds onto him tight, her hips coming together with his with a sudden and hard finality. It causes Betty to tighten around him, to press in every place that sends him reeling, and he comes, Betty curled around him as if to shield him from sight, a safe place in a sudden storm.

 

Jughead shakes against her, fingers climbing into her hair again, holding her tight, and he wishes he could live in this moment of just the two of them, the rain outside, forever.

 

He never thought he’d be connecting _forever_ with _Riverdale_ , but here he is, broken in her arms, warm and loved, and the home that had once caused so much anxiety has become safer somehow. Because Betty is here. Because this will be the start of something more. Because it doesn’t matter where they’re from, as long as they want to move forward together.

 

Betty pulls Jughead from his foggy thoughts with her hand on his forehead, pressing back his damp hair, a smile slipping across her beautiful mouth.

 

“What?” He murmurs, his own smile surfacing at the sight of hers, even if his own is a little lopsided.

 

But then he’s still not in full control of his faculties, not to mention he’s having trouble concentrating, what with his naked girlfriend in his lap, his body thoroughly still aware of that fact.

 

Betty shakes her head, still smiling at him. “Just… You’re going to laugh.”

 

He is intrigued. “ _Spill_.”

 

“You look really beautiful right now.”

 

Jughead holds in the laugh that wants to escape, his chest shaking with it, but no amount of tongue-biting or cheek-sucking can stop the stupid grin that splits his face. He hadn’t expected that response.

 

Betty slaps his shoulder. “I knew it. I’m serious.”

 

“That’s why it’s funny,” Jughead clarifies, the laugh finally escaping.

 

Betty waits him out until his humour has subsided before taking his face in her hands, her own smile nowhere to be seen. Her expression demands attention and seriousness. He’s reluctant to tell her it steals his breath.

 

“You, Jughead Jones, are beautiful, and I don't care if it makes you laugh, because it’s true. And I will keep telling you, because I think it’s a tragedy that you don’t know it, and that no one has ever told you before.”

 

It’s hard to laugh in the face of words like that, even harder not to feel them sinking in deep, finding a safe hiding place, somewhere he can keep them to examine later.

 

And it would be impossible not to feel the need to kiss her, his cock hard again as he tastes Betty’s mouth, and even more impossible - if more than impossible were a thing - to stop from tumbling her to the carpet, reaching for the pocket of his discarded jeans.

 

She laughs from beneath him as he pulls out a second purple foil packet. “Sure you weren’t a Boy Scout? ‘Be Prepared?’”

 

He rolls his eyes at her as he slips off the first condom and ties it off, putting it out of their way, before undoing the second, his hands much steadier now, much surer of what they can and _will_ do to her.

 

“You must know, Betty, Boy Scouts should only be concerned with hardcore survivalism and the inevitable Riverdale apocalypse.”

 

She laughs, shaking her head at his sarcasm. “Oh, my God, Juggie.”

 

“More of that,” he murmurs, grinning beneath her jaw. “Less about Boy Scouts.”

 

“ _Mm-hm_ ,” she assents dazedly, eyes closed, arms thrown back above her head across the living room floor.

 

Betty opens her legs to Jughead, bracing her feet against the floor, raising her hips as he rolls on the new condom and presses back against her. She whines his name in the back of her throat - _fuck_ \- and her hands are all over him, as if she can’t get enough.

 

Her nails score his shoulders again, and he takes it as his cue, one hand guiding and one hand braced against the plush carpet he had vacuumed only hours earlier, when he definitely did not have this event in mind.

 

At the first touch, Jughead holds his breath, but that moment passes and he presses on, cradled between Betty’s thighs.

 

Beneath him, she moves, and he knows that he isn’t the only one who learnt something this evening, that when he was letting her take charge she was taking as many notes as her journalistic fingers could handle.

 

She writes them out now, hard lines across his back, fingers in his hair, her mouth against his cheek saying his name over and over.

 

His hand, so steady only moments ago, begins to shake as he presses it between them, his thumb searching as his hips snap between Betty’s thighs.

 

She is warm and all-encompassing, and he feels like there is nothing left now but this. No thought, no cares - only her, only _them_.

 

Jughead is careful not to hurt Betty, not to send her sliding across the carpet like he had when he was five, trying to impress his dad by doing a powerslide. Sick burns are not on the agenda tonight.

 

He knows when his thumb has met its intended target, because Betty inhales loudly against his ear, clinging to him tightly, her thighs tightening their hold as he presses against her clit.

 

He wants her to come like this, wants it so badly that he won’t finish until she has, and then she grabs at his wrist above her head and he knows that the moment has come quickly, her head thrown back against the carpet, her mouth open and that twisted breathless expression across her face.

 

She freezes in place, back arched, and she draws him out, makes him come hard as she does, as tight and insistent as her fist had been.

 

He chokes out a half-baked sentiment against her neck and she laughs, her nails now turning to soft fingertips down his back, soothing and sweet, a touch he wants to feel for a lifetime.

 

They lie there panting for a solid minute before Betty begins to shift, and Jughead is quick to clean up, pulling out with a shiver, so he can curl up with her again faster.

 

He lifts her from the floor, and Betty laughs, wide-eyed in surprise, pulling him down for a long kiss when he deposits her on the edge of the couch, naked and flushed.

 

He smiles as he pulls away, heading to the trash can in the kitchen, padding there naked, feeling Betty’s eyes on his back.

 

“Admiring my beauty?” Jughead asks coquettishly as he turns back to her, tone teasing, only to find Betty’s eyes are far from his face, her teeth sunk into her lower lip as her fingers absentmindedly play at her collarbone.

 

Betty’s green eyes meet his face, totally unashamed, and she doesn't even have the decency to _blush_. He laughs as she nods slowly in answer to his question.

 

“Admiring something, alright,” Jughead mutters, stalking back to her to climb onto the couch and kiss her soundly.

 

Betty sighs, falling back against the cushions and pulling Jughead with her. Her thighs come up to cradle him, and his cheek finds a home at her sternum, her fingers playing in his hair, the strands tickling his nose and making it wrinkle. She laughs at him softly, her chest shaking beneath him, her heartbeat echoing in his ear.

 

He plays with her free fingers, her silver arrow thumb ring, and in the ensuing quiet, he forgets about the jacket, about the part he’ll have to play, but not about his promise. She will never lose him.

 

Jughead closes his eyes, the sound of the rain on the roof and Betty’s heartbeat in his ears, and he thinks about forever.


End file.
